Gillian had talked herself into and out of doing this so many times she doesn't even know what she had hoped to accomplish anymore. All she knows is that she can't continue on this way, not with her best friend and especially not if the rumours she's hearing are true. She sighs and watches her car windows fog over as her fingers tap absently on the gearshift. The house stands out against the snow, brown bricks nearly comforting in their familiarity. Three steps up to the door, she knows them by heart, and she can't stomach the thought of never walking them again.

She shakes her head, twisting the key to turn off the idling car. It's dumb to be afraid of this, of Cal. He's never once set out to make her genuinely uncomfortable. He wouldn't say anything to hurt her, not about this.

The front door swings open just as Gillian slams her car door behind her and pulls the sleeves of her coat over her fingers to ward off the chill. She leans against her car door as she waits for him to approach, crossing her arms over her chest.

He stops at the edge of his walkway, his feet stuffed into awful bunny slippers and dressed in flannel pyjama pants and a worn Henley with sleeves pushed up to the elbows.

"Hi," she says.

"Saw your car," he shrugs. "Thought you weren't gonna come in."

"I wasn't going to at first," Gillian sighs. "Then I was."

He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them to wring his hands together instead.

"It's cold, Foster."

She shivers as if prompted by his words. She takes a few steps towards him, still leaving a breadth of space between them.

Shrugging, she says, "I've gotten pretty used to the cold."

He stiffens where she'd deflate, shoulders rising and pressing back and voice going strong.

"Ouch," he says. "Wouldn't say the same to you."

"Except you would, Cal, if you were speaking to me. Which is why I'm here, by the way."

"It's warmer inside."

The tips of his ears and nose are bright pink and he crosses his arms again, this time to warm them. His eyes catch hers, so he hops from foot to foot, losing the focus. She could get more from him in his own home.

"Okay."

She lets him lead her up the walkway, barely able to feel his hand in the small of her back through the layers of her coat. The pressure is no less comforting. She counts the steps, three of them, still that awkward steepness that made them a pain to climb in heels.

Gillian stops as soon as she steps into the foyer, blocking half of the door as she peers into his home. The walls are the same olive green, the carpets still cream, but there are cardboard boxes piled in the corners and crevices, making her breaths come heavier.

"Gillian?"

He nudges gently against her shoulder and she startles, jumping slightly before moving to the side. She toes off her boots and flexes her toes in her socks. She peels off gloves and stuffs them into the pocket of her coat before hanging it on the rack.

She hadn't actually planned to stay, just step inside his house and ask whether or not he'd still be here at Christmas, in the New Year, when her birthday came around in the spring. The answer being obvious, she has no reason to ask, but instinct has her preparing to stay. Obviously, the two of them had very different sets of instincts.

"You're really going," she says quietly.

Cal nods once, then twice.

"Coffee? You know, I could murder a cup of tea."

She rolls her eyes.

"Classic Cal Lightman: deflection, refusal to act like an adult, ego the size of Manhattan. Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"You're the only one I wanted to tell, love."

She sighs. "Why do you do that? That makes me so angry."

"Gill," he says.

"No, Cal. You tell me this. If I was the one you wanted to tell so badly, why am I the last to know?"

He looks at his feet. When he tries to face her, his eyes catch a photo frame instead. Gillian follows his line of sight. It's her and Emily smiling brightly in front of the Christmas tree they had decorated for the Lightman Group Christmas party, Gillian's arm around Emily's shoulders.

He shrugs, eyes finding hers. "Just couldn't."

"You can't say it," she accuses, shaking her head slowly.

"That's what I just said."

"No, it isn't. Please just… you don't have to lie to me. You've never had to lie to me."

He turns his back to her so he doesn't have to see the words her face speaks.

"'Cept I do, Gillian, 'cause all I ever do's hurt you."

"Cal," her voice pitching higher as her hand meets his arm.

"I haven't seen my family in a long time, you know. And with Em off to college, there's no reason I need to be here."

Gillian moves to stand in front of him. "Not the Group?"

"You'd do just fine without me."

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes on the ground again.

"Actually, I don't think I would," she says. "I…"

She searches his face, reaching for any reassurance that her actions may be welcome despite all the tension between them. He still looks at her unlike she's ever seen him look at anyone else, just softer than he usually is, kinder. Some days, she swears she sees something a little like love in the warmth of his eyes. The only question is whether or not there's any intention, any desire to make fantasy into reality.

"Cal, I… I need you to say it. I need to hear it."

She squirms under his stare, his eyes the same grey colour as her dress. Her eyes had looked particularly blue in the mirror this morning and her freckles form constellations across her skin. She moves closer, struggling to string her thoughts together into a coherent sentence, one that didn't leave her so open to the possibility of rejection.

She blinks at him, cocking her head in that way that opens her up to him completely.

"Cal?"

His eyes pop wide, eyebrows rising up.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you first. I didn't want to hurt you."

Her expression melts warmer. "Because?"

"I think you already know the answer to that one, Gill."

He crosses his arms, drawing her eyes to the tattoo that peeks from under his sleeve where his bicep bulges.

"I need to hear you say it," she says, resting a hand on his chest.

"I'm gonna miss you, you know that?" she adds.

"I know. I'll miss you too," he says, swallowing around the lump that forms in his throat. "I love you, Gillian."

She sways closer, her hands catching against his arms. She closes her eyes and takes in the lightness, the airiness of her being. This is not a mere fantasy, not a slight crush. This is real, this is honest, and this is her last chance.

Her forehead falls against his, bringing them closer together than they've ever been. Every breath between them is laboured, heavy and quick. She doesn't think, just moves. His shirt is clutched in her fingers and her mouth so close that she breathes his breaths, can feel how soft his lips are only millimetres away.

He pulls back quickly, dislodging her completely. She recovers before stumbling backwards half a step, her cheeks burning red.

"I'm sorry," she says.

She shakes her head, eyes on the entrance tile.

"No, it's honest."

Her eyelashes flutter. "I love you."

His eyes shut slowly, his hand winding through his hair.

"I shouldn't have come. I'll go," she says.

She focuses on the pounding in her chest and pretends it doesn't hurt. She pulls her coat down from the rack and flips it around her body. Before she can wind her arms through, Cal grabs the fabric and frees it from her hold.

"Stay Gill? Please?"

Her eyes burn when she looks at him. She smiles, just a slight lifting of her mouth. Her dimple doesn't show.

"Okay."

He reaches out like he's going to touch her, but withdraws with a sigh. He sticks his hands into his pockets instead.

"I'm not a good man," he says. "I don't mean to most of the time, but I just hurt you like clockwork. I've hurt you now. I'm going to London. It would just be cruel."

"There are telephones, planes. I'm not asking you to stay."

He looks at her, eyes hard.

"You think I'm naive," she says, eyes narrowing.

"I think you want more than I can give you or and I think that you deserve that. I'm going to hurt you again."

He puts her coat back on the rack, brushing against her arm as he does so.

"You really think that after all the years I've known you, I could expect hopeless romance from you? You still can't accept that romance novels are novels," she says. "You make me happy."

"Yeah and at what expense?"

"You're such an idiot," she laughs. "It's one I'm ready to pay."

His eyes linger on her face even as her laugh melts into a smirk. She hardens her features momentarily.

"Don't read me, just kiss me," she says.

His lips crash down on hers, actually surprising her in their eagerness. She clutches at his arms for balance, returning his kiss with all the emotion she had kept buried for too long. He pulls her closer, his hands fluttering at her waist, then weaving through her hair as his tongue explores her mouth. His sigh echoes against her teeth as he slowly pulls away, irises glittering around dilated pupils. She smiles, bringing her hand up to touch his cheek.

"Stay?" he asks again, the tone a lot tenser.

"I told you I would," she says, bringing them nose to nose.

"I mean stay, Gill."

"You thought I didn't know?"

She wiggles her eyebrows and he grins from ear to ear. He brings her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

"You always know," he says. "How lucky."


Edited as of 25/11/2017 for grammar, tense, style, flow, and the elimination of head-hopping. I hope it reads better now.